


Bad Decisions

by LeTempest



Series: Q-Divison: Tumblr ficlets [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Cheating, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeTempest/pseuds/LeTempest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond is nothing if not self destructive. He will tear down the world trying to fix the lives of those he holds closest, even if it means tearing them down as well. Q is clever enough to see it. But he isn't sure he has the strength to stand against that force, over and over and over again. Like a rock in the sea, each wave wears him down, until one day there is nothing left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt :"I dont if I have asked before but Angst and love is wonderful. My prompt would be to have Q come home to James in bed with another man and Q leave him and James have to work really really hard at getting him back and his trust. James would more than likely be drunk or near drunk and had brought the man home thinking Q wouldnt find out . james had had a really bad mission and screwed up ."
> 
> Standard disclaimer: I don't own Bond or the characters and I make no money from this fic.

~~

He’d known it was a mistake the moment the idea had come into his head. He’d known it wasn’t right, that he’d could be caught, that it would hurt Q. But James Bond had made a living tripling on the feelings of others, for the good of queen and country. Sleeping with people was part of his job. This was no different he told himself. His escapism kept him together and as long as he was together he was useful. Q couldn’t give him what he needed tonight. So he would find someone who could.

The boy was handsome, a trim young thing who took great pride in his looks. Designer cuts and a well built body that only came with hours spend in a gym. His skin was dark and warm, the color of coffee with cream and had a taste for gin and tonic. He had a smile that said he knew what he wanted, knew what he was looking for and Bond seemed to fulfill those needs. He fell into the easy game he knew they were both playing, drinks and flirtations and eventual discussion towards taking it to more private quarters.

He told the cabby to take them back to his place. Q wouldn’t come by tonight, he was sure. He usually gave James a wide breadth after missions, especially ones that left them both angry, exhausted, and emotionally wrecked.

He told himself he hadn’t heard the door open over the young man’s breathless moans, that he hadn’t heard the tell tale thud of a dropped book bag or the jingle of keys over the sound of the bed’s protests. It wasn’t until the young, handsome boy underneath him swore, loud, crass and devoid of pleasure, pushing at James and scrambling back towards the headboard as the bedroom light flipped on.

James cursed, gritting his teeth as he looked over his shoulder.

Q’s face was a mask of ice and cold, devoid of anything but a distant distaste, like a man watching a headless cockroach or a salt slug.

“Who the hell is he,” the young man, Travis James thought his name was, crowed, pointing an accusing finger at Q.

“I’m his boyfriend,” Q said, his tone ice cold, “Now get your trousers and get out.”

The young man’s face turned ugly and Q quirked a brow.

“Trust me, there is nothing about you I can’t find out in under 3 minutes. I suggest you leave before I have a reason to make your life as hellish as I wanted it be.”

“He’s not bluffing,” James filled in, though his gaze fell on Q, “You should go.”

With a snarl, Travis disentangled himself from the sheets, kicking on his trousers. Q kept his eyes on Bond, his fury nearly palpable. But he didn’t say a word, not until they heard the door snap closed.

“What’s this all about then,” Q said, arms crossed over his chest, “Mid life crisis?”

Bond sighed, pushing back the sheets.

“You’ve never minded me taking people to bed before. Jealous I wouldn’t let you listen in this time,” he said, stumbling his way through the room.

“I let do your job. Bringing some little twat here, fucking him in our bed, that a whole different story and you know it.”

“My bed. Not our bed. You have a place of your own.”

He pushed past Q, into the living room, straight towards the bar.

“One you have been trying to convince me to move out of for three months,” Q shot back, cold fury creeping into his voice.

“Maybe I’ve changed my mind,” he sneered, reaching for the bottle of vodka.

“Changed your mind,” Q asked, following, “Changed your bloody mind? YOU persuade ME, James. Have I not done what you’ve asked of me? Have I not given you the space you needed? Have I not kept from pressing you? Kept from questioning you? I have never, not once, raised cain about your post mission hissy fits. You disappear for days, you drink yourself into oblivion, and then you come back and expect me to pretend like nothing has happened, to put you back together piece by fucking piece. And I do it without complaint. But you bring some boy in our bed, fuck him in our bed, and then act like I am the guilty party? Like you don’t even care? Do you think I’m stupid?”

Q was positively shaking now, all the anger flowing through him like a thousand volts of electricity. James watched him, wanting to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness. But images came to his mind, unbidden. Vesper. He always killed the ones he loved. So he forced his heart to stone, made his face impassive.

“I think you’re long winded,” he slurred.

Q stopped at that, staring at him with a look of raw and open hurt mixed with disbelief, now that the anger was starting to fade.

“Fine. You want to play this game, you want to push me away? Fine. You win. Because I can’t do it anymore. I can’t stand around and watch you destroy yourself all because you are so afraid to loss someone again that you would rather take them apart with your own hands,” he said.

He snatched up his bag in one hand, and the sound of the door slamming behind him was like a jack hammer in James skull.

~~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow I got A LOT of feedback on this prompt fic! I got more than a handful of asks about continuing these so here you guys go!

~~  
It took weeks, that turned into months. Not speaking more than necessary, spending time a thousand miles from each other. Q’s things sat in the apartment, just as he’d left them, gathering dust. The jumper he’d left there hung in the closet, wedged between two charcoal grey jackets. Q would never have said anything, not even to Moneypenny. But Eve was smart, and she was a good friend. It was her voice in Bond’s ear the next time he took a mission, and there was an unfamiliar coolness to her voice.

“You need to apologize to him,” she said in his ear, as he walked back to his own hotel room on night.

He rolled his eyes. Did she think this was easy, acknowledging he’d royally fucked up in a fit of drunken self pity? But some part of him new this was for the best. Sixteen years was more than an age gap, it was an ocean, and Bond had more than enough issues to spare. Q was young, smart, attractive. He needed to find someone who could take care of his needs, instead of an old man who’d fallen apart and been put back together so many times no one knew if he next crack would do him in for good. 

“I can’t.”

“No, you won’t. There is a difference.”

He rubbed a tired hand across his face.

“After what I did? That’s not something you can apologize for Eve. I hurt him, I hurt him on purpose no less. He deserves better than that.”

“No arguments here,” she snapped and that one stung but she was far from done with him yet, “And yet for some daft reason, he wants you. He won’t say it out loud. But you see it in his eyes. He misses you.”

“He’ll get over it,” Bond mumbled.

“He’s tried, believe me. You should the boys he takes home. But they don’t last and he always has an excuse. But all it takes is a second to notice he’s not sleeping well, he’s smoking like a chimney. He’s falling apart James.”

“Because I hurt him but…”

“No,” She snarled in his ear, “Because never gave him one damned bit of closure about the whole bloody thing! You let him walk out, knowing full well you were doing it in a fit of self destruction. And for all he knows your still spiraling! He’s waiting for the memo to come across his desk, telling him to close your file because you’ve finally gone down in a blaze of glory!”

Bond’s steps faltered. Damn that boy. Damn that beautiful, clever, amazing boy. He knew Bond better than the Agent knew himself and he’d forgotten that. He’d not just hurt Q. He’d left him to stew in it. 

“You’re right.”

“Damn straight I am,” she growled, “Now you call him and close that wound, whatever it takes. You owe him that at least.”

Her line went dead.

Bond unlocked his door and sighed, loosening his tie as he rummaged for him mobile, punching in the familiar number.

It took three rings to get an answer.

” ‘Ello?”

The voice on the other end was sleepy and rough, but all together unfamiliar. Bond shoved down the pang of jealousy. He’d lost all rights to be jealous of the man in Q’s bed. 

“May I speak with Quinn Harper please,” he asked, cordially.

“One sec mate.”

There was a shuffling of fabric, whispered voices, then the phone was passed over.

“This is Quinn.”

James could picturing him, laying back against the pillows, glasses off, hair mussed from sleep.

“Q, It’s me.”

There was a long silence.

“Bond. Is there something wrong at work,” he asked cooly, and their was a shuffle of fabric that said he was leaving the room. So whoever he was bedding was from outside the agency then. Probably for the best.

“It’s a personal call.”

There was a rough sigh and the sound of a door shutting.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t hang up on you,” Q said quietly, and he sounded exhausted. Not like a man who’d been woken from sleep but like someone who hadn’t really rested in a long time.

Bond wanted to be snarky. Wanted to offer up a quippy comment that would make the Quartermaster laugh. But he knew now wasn’t the time. He swallowed hard.

“I can’t.”

A pause.

“Make it quick.”

“I’m sorry Q…Quinn. About what happened.”

“That’s it. Months in this hell and all you can say is your sorry? I walk in on you fucking someone else and all you can say is you’re sorry?”

“Yes,” Bond relented, “Because there is nothing I can say or do that can make up for what I did to you. I forget how amazing you are sometimes, how you can see right through all my tricks. I forget what that knowledge does to you. And all I can say is that I am truly sorry. I’m not asking your forgiveness, because I know I don’t deserve it. I can’t even say I didn’t mean to hurt you, because in the moment, I did. I wanted to hurt you so that you would leave me, so that you would find someone better. I was wrong. and I am sorry that I was wrong. I am sorry I am so damaged. I am sorry for what you have had to endure thanks to me. I’m sorry I am insensitive. I’m sorry I’m distant. I am sorry that I can be cold and cruel and calculating even towards the things that I love. And I am sorry I turned all that darkness and self hate on you, because you are a good man and you deserve better.”

He could hear Q’s breath on the other line.

“Stupid man,” the youth almost groaned, and James could almost imagine him tugging at that unruly hair, “you fucking bastard.”

“Get some sleep, Quinn,” he said, “It sounds like you need it. And know that anything that happens on this mission, it’s one me. I’m not going to throw myself on a bullet but if one finds me it won’t be because of you and it won’t be because I went looking for it. Understand?”

“Yes,” the voice on the other end was smaller now, all the rage gone, “Please be careful 007. Bring everything home in one piece. And that includes you.”

James couldn’t help the small, tired smile on his lips.

“I’ll do my best, Quartermaster.”

The line cut and Bond ended the call, tossing the phone back onto the bed. It wasn’t much. But it was a start.  
#00q #prompt fill #continuation


	3. chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Maybe I'm asking too much, but if you could please finish, or branch off on the cheating!bond, I would be the happiest fan girl on the planet. It reminded me a lot of Brian and Justin (qaf) and I loved it with all my being. Pleaseee? :3333"

It’s hard at first. Just being close to him. It causes a fierce anger to flare up in Q’s chest, one that bleeds into resentment, and the patters out into the bone deep ache of longing. Anyone who wants to fall in love is an idiot. 

He keeps replaying the call in his mind. Despite the time they had spent together, in bed or other wise, James had never been so exposed while they were together. He’d never actually said any of that. But Q was smart and very accomplished at reading people. They were things he’d figured out on his own. There had been something real and raw in James’s voice that night, and Q had never wished more desperately that he could reach through the phone lines and cling to the man.

But that train of thought always ended up hurtling out of control. You don’t forget the sight of someone else’s legs wrapped around your lover’s waist, of knowing that fucked someone else not because they had to, not even because they wanted to, but to hurt you. He could understand necessity. He could understand lust. But what had transpired that night was betrayal, stomping trampling the thin web of “okay” that Q had finally managed to spin around his life.

But Q was trying his best. He was back to being Bond’s handler for the most part. They could speak cordially to one another, finally. They made it through Portugal, through Lebanon, through Monaco. Bond even brought back all but one piece of equipment from that trip. 

It started with little things. Gifts appearing out of no where. Swiss chocolates’ on the kitchen table. Expensive wine in the wine rack. A watch tucked into the pocket of his corduroy blazer. A box of real Indian Chia spirited away in his cupboard.Tickets to see Hamlet at the Royal Shakespeare (one marked with his name, the other with Eve’s).

He doesn’t need to check his security feed to know who’s putting them there. 

It was the book that did him in; an aged copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy, in the original italian, wrapped in supple leather, just laying in the middle of his bed.

He laid on his couch and smoked and drank his wine, and reads the book out loud, hoping that Bond had figured out how to tap his security system, hoping the man could hear him. Because try as he did not to, he loved that stupid, reckless, self obsessed, self destructive bastard.

He came home the next evening to find James sitting on his couch. 

“I was hoping you’d join me for dinner,” James asked and Q smiled, noticing the ancient book cradled in Bond’s calloused hands.

“You’re buying. And I can tell you now it will be bloody expensive,” Q quips, walking towards the bedroom to change and hiding his careful smile.

~~~

Hope that helped :D


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